Dylan

by S. L. Scott

  Broken, just like me.

  So much needless pain. That’s what I used to think. But now I don’t think it was needless. I think it was necessary in some twisted fucked up way. I rub his back, leaning my head against his shoulder. His breathing is harsh, stubbornly unsteady. “Dylan, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

  He looks up at me, unsure of what I mean.

  Taking his face between my hands, I kiss his forehead, then his nose. I kiss a tear away on his left cheek, and his lips. This isn’t about sex. This is about forgiveness, comfort, love. I love him and even though I may not be able to totally forgive or tell him how much I care about him, I can comfort him. This is something I can do for him and something I want to do.

  Selfishly, it’s also for me.

  I deepen the innocent kiss and when my tongue enters his mouth, he adjusts so we’re in a more comfortable position. Not knowing fully where this inner urge is coming from, I shift on top and straddle him. Dylan’s hands go to my hips and a slow, low moan comes from his mouth right into mine, causing me to react the same.

  In one whispered word, he pulls back, being so careful with me, questioning, “Jules?”

  Wanting to confide, I want to tell him everything, like how my heart skips a beat every time I see him, how he makes me feel safe though he hurt me and I shouldn’t. I want to tell him I think he’s even more handsome with age. And yet, when he smiles, he looks like his younger version, the man I knew and loved so passionately. I want to tell him how scared I am to trust him and of getting my heart ripped apart again.

  I want to tell him so much but the words don’t come, kisses do. The way his arms slide up my body and hold me to him, I feel all the words he wants to say.

  Running my fingers into his hair, I pull him closer and kiss him, taking all the bad and flipping it around to create a perfect moment. A quick spin and I’m pinned underneath him, the cushions of our old couch soft beneath me. He’s between my legs, pressing into me in a way that makes me want him in ways that aren’t proper in a storage unit.

  A small grind against me and my head goes back, mouth agape, eyes closed as he sucks on my neck. Right now, in this moment, I realize it wouldn’t matter if we were in the middle of Times Square. I want this. I want him. Not just because I’m horny. Or lonely. Or desperate. But because Dylan Somers does things to me that no one else ever has. Or ever could.

  Irrational thoughts cloud my mind as our breathing exaggerates and I feel his erection against me.

  “Jules,” he sighs, painfully so. Pushing himself up, looking away, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, shamed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” I ask, “I’m not.” I want him— wholly, flawed and all, just like he wants me with my flaws—flaws that we earned over the years apart. Flaws that make us who we are now. Flaws that have defined us just like how he has defined me, and I him.

  “I feel like I’m taking advantage of yo—”

  “You’re not. I want you, Dylan.” I sit up, not begging, but wanting to be understood. I look into his eyes, and I see the hint of a spark returning. “You’re letting the bad take over the good. Don’t. We deserve good, babe…” Before I can stop myself, it slips out just like old times. Babe. I wait for his reaction, not sure where his head’s at with us, hoping we’re on the same page.

  He clears his throat, then smiles. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  “About the good?”

  “Yes.”

  “We should go, Jules. I don’t want to do this with you in a dirty storage unit. You deserve better.”

  “You’re right, I do,” I say not because of the storage unit, but because I deserve to be treated better than our past. “It’s time to go.” Straightening my clothes, I look around at our stuff, our old life together, and my heart starts to hurt.

  Taking my hand, he leads me back into the hallway before sliding the garage door back in place and securing the lock. Holding the key in front of me, he says, “Here. This is for you.”

  Taking the key from him, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “A couple of weeks ago, I signed over the contracts into your name. It’s yours and paid for, for another full year. It’s always been rightfully yours. I’m sorry I took it.”

  I stand there staring at him. Closing my hand around it, I grip the key tightly, pain surging from the teeth digging into my skin. “It’s mine?”

  “I’ll also pay to have it moved to another facility or to your apartment or a donation center if you want to get rid of some of it. I owe you.”

  Thinking about the key, the unit, and his offer, I take his hand and we walk down the hallway together, down the stairs, following the other corridor until we see Joey at the front desk. “Joey, this is Jules Weston. She has the key to the unit. It’s in her name now, so help her out if she ever needs any.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance, Ms. Weston.”

  I can’t resist friendly smile. “You too, Joey, and you can call me Jules.”

  “Will do. Goodnight and Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year,” Dylan replies while opening the door for me.

  Something about his comment makes me wonder what the date is, but a cab is driving by, so I concentrate on waving it down instead. He doesn’t stop, so we start walking toward the closest train station. We’re quiet for a moment. The cold wind picks up and I wrap my arms around myself to fend it off. “Why’d you show me this place? Why give it to me after all these years?”

  Dylan grins while looking around, but I can see the protectiveness in the way he scans our surroundings. “Um,” he starts, “I’d been meaning to send you the key for a couple of years, but I thought you might throw it all away and I didn’t want that.” He peeks over at me before moving closer and putting his arm around my shoulders. The warmth feels nice. “I knew I had to give everything back eventually. I just hoped for better circumstances.”

  “Is this a better circumstance?”

  “Even if we only have today, it’s better than the last four years of my life.”

  “It doesn’t erase what happened between us.”

  “I know. It wasn’t about that. It was about you having a say in the matter. A say that I originally took away.”

  Tinges of anger well inside, but I push the emotion down. “I deserved a say, but that wouldn’t have changed your mind. You would have still left, even if I had begged. As we walk up the steps to the platform, I stop, stalling, and ask, “Would it have made a difference if I had begged, Dylan? Begged you to stay?” I’ve wanted to ask that for so long. Just releasing the words lifts a bit of the burden from my soul that I’ve carried around for so long.

  Taking two steps down and standing in front of me, eye-level, he holds me by the elbows. “I want to tell you it wouldn’t have. I don’t want you to feel one iota of guilt because of something you did or didn’t do back then. I had made up my mind. I was careless. I’m the only one to blame here, Jules.”

  In his words, I find truth. I didn’t try. I didn’t try to stop him. I let him go. I let him go without a fight, like I didn’t love him at all.

  “I loved you,” I demand. “I loved you so much. You were a part me in every sense of who I was. That may have been wrong, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us.” He closes his eyes as I cup his face, and say, “I need you to know how much I loved you.”

  He grabs me, eyes wide, taking my breath away when he suddenly embraces me. “Please don’t apologize. It makes me feel like shit. You never have to apologize.” A sharp intake of breath and then he continues, “You deserve better, then and now, Jules” Looking away from me, he whispers, “You deserve someone like Austin and I ruined that for you. I’ve ruined your happiness twice.”

  “You didn’t ruin my happiness with Austin. I loved him,” I whisper while people walk by staring at us. They don’t matter though. They only exist beyond our world, our bubble. “But I wasn’t in love with him. I wouldn’t have married him, Dylan. I never lov
ed him or anyone like I’ve loved you.”

  He looks up, and although he’s not smiling, his eyes are clearer, the truth seeping in, and he says, “I don’t want to lose you, but you have a choice at the end of today—to love me or destroy me. It’s completely up to you and if you pick the latter, I won’t blame you.”

  “I don’t want to destroy you. Even when I hated you, I loved you deep down. I know that or I wouldn’t be here with you now.”

  He releases a deep breath—both of us feeling a weight lift a little more from our heavy hearts. I relax as he walks, guiding me to the train that just arrived. When we step on, there’s only one seat available. He leads me to it, but I don’t want to sit there alone. I need to be close to him. I have him sit and then I settle onto his lap, my arms going around him and kissing his temple.

  Something is different between us. The lies and truths that kept us apart for so long are bringing us back together and I feel a hint of forgiveness filling me. I breathe it in, needing it as much as my need for Dylan.

  At each stop, more people exit, leaving open seats. I notice a lot of them are dressed up—suits, party dresses, to the nines, but don’t give it a second thought because I’m with him, healing. Feeling tired, I turn sideways, bring my knees up and let him hold me as I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

  “Emotionally exhausted,” he adds, sounding just as tired.

  I smile. “Exactly.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I am too. Do you want to go out or do you want take-out?”

  “Can we go to your place?” I ask, not wanting to face my apartment. There are too many memories and boxes, not enough life, to support us being there right now.

  “Yes. Do you want to stop by your apartment and grab anything for the night?”

  I nod.

  He asks, “How about something spicy like Thai?”

  “How about something comforting like Italian?”

  “I can always eat Italian.”

  “Formaggios,” we say in unison.

  My head pops up to look at him and we laugh. I say, “You always did like that place.”

  “So did you. I can run down there and grab our order while you get an overnight bag packed.”

  “That sounds very efficient.”

  He smirks and I laugh. Reminiscing, he says, “I’ve missed Formaggios living so far away.”

  “Is that all you missed living so far away?” Lifting my eyes, I dare to look into the deep blues of his.

  His lips part as he stares back. “I missed you, Baby. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “I want to hear the truth.”

  His arms tighten around me and he kisses me. “Like you said earlier, you always were, and are still a part of me. I missed this. I missed you.”

  They’re words that have consequences, but he says them anyway. He says what he feels because it’s what I need to hear and I’m warmed from the inside out.

  I LEAN MY hands on the counter and catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. A smile appears, one I can’t hide, one that knows I’m a lucky bastard.

  The bartender tells me it will be another fifteen minutes for my food, so I order a beer. I need to take the edge off. My nerves are frayed from the last few days. I need to calm the fuck down.

  It’s funny how nervous I am to spend time with a girl that I spent years with before. But we’re different.

  I’m different.

  Jules is different.

  We’re who we are now, not naïve like we were back then. I won’t screw us up this time. I promise I won’t fuck this up. I grab the order and walk the three blocks back to her place. Right when I arrive at the front door, she comes out. “Perfect timing,” she says, “I’m all ready.”

  In the cab over to my apartment, she says, “The food smells good. I’m starving.”

  What I love is that she’s sitting right next to me even though there’s plenty of room on the other side of her. I take a chance and put my arm around her shoulders… and she lets me.

  “I’M SO FULL,” I say, rubbing my stomach while leaning back to relieve the pressure on my belt.

  “So am I,” she replies, exhaling. “I’d like more wine. Do you mind if I get it?”

  “No, go right ahead. Please make yourself at home.”

  She was standing from the table when the last part of what I said makes her hesitate. Home. Then she whispers, “Thank you,” before going into the kitchen.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Simple.

  The truth.

  Plain.

  Honest.

  With the wine bottle in hand, she tops our glasses off. After setting it down, she stands next to me, then slides onto my lap sideways similar to how we sat on the train. She kisses my forehead, then says, “I want,” kissing my temple, “to be here,” my cheek and finally my lips, “with you.”

  She tugs me even closer. “I want you,” she adds, just a whisper in my ear, her hand over my heart and I wonder if she realizes where her hand landed.

  Fireworks.

  We look toward the large window in the living room, the dark sky lights up. Jules rushes from my lap before I can stop her with excitement on her face. “It’s New Years Eve,” she proclaims as if she just realized, looking at the clock. “It’s not midnight yet?”

  “Pre-fireworks at eleven-thirty to get everyone in the spirit. The ball drops at midnight.”

  “Turn on the TV. I want to watch.”

  After turning the TV on, it blares nonsense about New Years past. I watch her instead. She’s much more interesting.

  “Jules?”

  “Yeah,” she responds so naturally, still watching the TV, as if we do this all the time.

  We don’t. It feels good though. “I missed you so much,” I say.

  When she looks back at me, her smile falters. Just a bit, but I see it. She comes back over, standing in front of me, arm reaching forward, offering to help me off the couch. I take her hand and stand when she says, “Come with me, babe.”

  It’s an offer I can’t refuse.

  She leads me into the bedroom and strips her top off, revealing the most innocent of white cotton bras. For some reason I like that it’s not lingerie, or lace, or satin. It’s pure, innocent, and sweetness all in one.

  I pull my own shirt over my head, following the silent instructions her eyes give. We don’t stand there long before she moves closer, hands on my chest, fingers in the light hair she finds there. When her eyes meet mine, she says, “I love a man with chest hair.”

  Resting my hands on her ribs, I notice now while remembering then how small she really is. Delicate in so many ways but strong in others.

  I lean down and kiss her. She returns the kiss with equal passion. But I have questions and I need answers before this goes any further. “Hey, pretty girl, what’s going on between us?”

  With a shy smile, she says, “I was trying to seduce you, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of it.”

  I grin, lightly chuckling. “You don’t have to try. I’m yours already, but are you sure? A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “I don’t want you to make me forget or to replace any bad memories. I just want to be with you because you make me happy. You make me feel things I haven’t felt in years.”

  “If we do this, there’s no sneaking out of the house in the morning. I didn’t like waking up and finding you gone, Jules.”

  “One day at a time, remember,” she murmurs against my neck while kissing me there.

  I pull away, stepping back, leaving her alone in front of me. I have to or she’ll end me completely. “I can’t do that.”

  “But our talk earlier?”

  “I know. I know what I’m saying is the opposite, but when you’re here, whether watching TV or talking, eating take-out, or almost naked, I realize I don’t want you for a day. I want you for always.” I take another step back,
my body hitting the wall behind me, putting more distance between us, needing to think clearly. Looking down at my belt buckle that’s hanging open, remnants of what might have been, reminds me of what I might be losing by saying this. “If you need more time or…” I finally connect with her eyes. “…to leave, I’ll understand. There’s just no doubt in my mind. I won’t need months of dating to know what I have. I know right now. I know I want you.” I stand up straighter, confident in my desire. “I want you, Jules. Not just physically, but all of you. I want to see you on a normal Sunday morning with that messy bun on top of your hair while you do laundry. I want to see those tight black yoga pants you wear when reading a book or napping on the couch.” I take another step forward. “I like when your makeup is smeared after sex. You make me want to make love to you all over again and mess it up even more.”

  Stepping closer, she reveals her own secrets. “I like watching you sleep in the early morning hours. You look at peace with the world. I like when you cook for me because you always put so much effort into it, which feels like love. I like when you walk on the outside of the sidewalk to protect me from I don’t even know what, but I like that you do it.”

  One more step closer and I continue, “I like when you ask me to move the furniture around just so you can ogle my arms and ass as I do—”

  “I do not!” She feigns offense.

  “You did. Admit it!”

  She grins, guiltily. “Yeah, I might do that. But in my defense, you do have a great ass and fantastic arms to ogle. Still.”

  My smile remains firmly in place as we close the gap between us. Stroking her cheek, I sigh. “My funny, fantastic, pretty girl. What should I do with you?”

  Pressing her cheek against my chest, she also sighs. “I wish I had the answers, Dylan. I don’t. I just know,” she says, tilting her head up, “that I don’t want to screw things up like last time.”

  Grabbing her face gently between my hands, I make her look me in the eyes. “You did not do anything to screw things up. Baby, please believe me when I say, it was all me and fucked up thoughts of indulgence. If I could take everything back and do it over, I would. Believe me when I tell you that every great memory I have as an adult includes you. You are the best part of me in every sense. Please forgive me. Please love me again, Jules.”